


S.P.E.W.

by Isis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Challenge Response, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Multi, Orgy, Secret Societies, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-01
Updated: 2003-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death Eaters aren't the only underground group to come out of Slytherin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	S.P.E.W.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Slytherin Fuh-Q Fest.

"Excuse us?"

Hermione looked up from her book to see two fourth-year Slytherins. She was always a little wary when anyone wearing green and silver came close, although these two boys seemed nice-looking enough, if a bit nervous. 

"We'd, uh, like to join Spew." 

"Oh!" Hermione broke into a smile. "You mean S. P. E. W., of course. How wonderful!" She reached into her book bag and pulled out two of the badges she'd been faithfully carrying about since her own fourth year. "I suppose you'd like green ones. That will be two sickles each." 

The boys paid for their badges as she continued, "I'm gratified to see more people concerned with the plight of the elves." 

"Elves?" said one boy, blankly. The other elbowed him, saying, "Right, mustn't forget the poor elves." 

"We have meetings once a month," she continued brightly, but the boys had already turned away and started heading out of the library. Strange, she thought, as she went back to her reading. It seemed as though every year, three or four Slytherins joined S. P. E. W. But they never seemed to show up at any of the meetings. 

* * *

"Elves?" said Malcolm, again. 

"Look, I don't know either. But I didn't want her to get suspicious," said Graham. 

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" 

"None at all." Graham pulled the parchment from his pocket, looked at it for the tenth time that day. It was a small scroll, easily fitting in the palm of his hand. It said: 

> The First Task:  
>  Go to Hermione Granger.  
>  Tell her you wish to join S. P. E. W.  
>  Wear your badge. 

It had been delivered by owl, with the mail. Malcolm Baddock, his closest friend here at Hogwarts, had got one too, but by discreet questioning he had discovered that none of the other fourth-years had received the scroll. He didn't dare ask any of the senior students, and of course he wasn't about to speak to any of the babies if he didn't have to. He and Malcolm had sat on his bed after classes that day, trying to work out just what they ought to do about this strange note and what it might mean. 

But that evening, at dinner, he happened to look up the table toward the seventh-years. Draco Malfoy, the House Quidditch team captain and the undisputed leader of the Slytherin pack, was holding court as usual. Usually he just ignored the younger students, but for some reason he caught Graham's eye. 

The older boy smiled, a sort of knowing, superior smile. And then he turned away. But not before Graham noticed the badge on his robes. S. P. E. W. 

* * *

> The Second Task:  
>  Go to Hogsmeade.  
>  Visit Veronica's Secret.  
>  Wear your badge. 

Graham looked across the table at Malcolm and raised an eyebrow.  
The other boy nodded.

"Tomorrow's Hogsmeade day. I reckoned we were going anyway." 

"Have you ever been to" -- he looked at the scroll -- "Veronica's Secret?" 

Malcolm actually blushed. "I've seen where it is. It's the one that's got those pictures of veela in the window, you know, wearing, um, well." 

He felt his own face redden. "Oh. That shop." He'd walked by there once on his way to Honeydukes. The shapes in the windows had drawn his attention and he'd stood there in the middle of the pavement, staring like a total prat for fifteen whole minutes. He'd probably have spent the whole day staring if a passerby hadn't accidentally jostled him, causing him to break eye contact and remember where he was going. 

And that's where he had to go tomorrow, he and Malcolm. This was going to be one hell of a weird task. 

* * *

Hogsmeade was bustling with witches and wizards and Hogwarts students. There were even a few teachers; Malcolm nudged Graham as Professor McGonagall entered The Three Broomsticks. 

"Crikey," he whispered, "can you imagine what we'd be in for if she saw us going into Veronica's Secret?" 

They darted down one alley, then another, trying to stay out of sight. Finally they came to their destination. Graham tried very hard not to look in the display window, but it was impossible; fortunately, the veela had been replaced by what looked like a mermaid, and he was able to go right through the door after only a quick glance, Malcolm following close behind. 

A very pretty witch smiled at them from behind the counter. Graham wasn't sure, but he thought he recognized her from school; she'd been in her last year when he started, probably. "Can I help you?" she started, then caught sight of the badges the two boys wore. Her smile grew wider. 

"I do believe that the Slytherin men are getting better looking every year," she said. 

"Um," said Graham. 

"Um," said Malcolm. 

"I'll just get your measurements and be right back with your things," she continued. 

"Um," said Graham again as a tape measure flickered around his waist, his legs, his shoulders. 

"What things?" asked Malcolm, after the girl had left for the back room. 

"How am I supposed to know?" 

Veronica, or whoever she was, returned in a few moments with two shoeboxes. At least, they looked like shoeboxes. "Here you go, boys." 

Graham started to lift the lid on his box, but his hand was gently slapped down before he was able to glimpse much more than soft folds of dark green. "You can look at them in your room. Now, off with you." 

"How much --" 

"Oh, no, it's all been taken care of." When she smiled again she looked a bit like a veela. "Have fun, boys." 

* * *

They raced back to the castle and down into the dungeon, to the Slytherin dorms. The other fourth-year boys were still at the village, so they had their room to themselves as they opened the boxes. 

"Wow," breathed Malcolm. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" 

Graham shook his head as he slid his hands across the silken cloth, feeling the cool smoothness. There was a pair of boxer shorts, dark green with black trim. There was a dark green nightshirt. There were four black scarves -- two short, two long. All of the same fine silk, light as butterfly wings. 

"You reckon we're supposed to wear this stuff?" 

"The message didn't say. We'd better not." 

So they left the soft clothes in the boxes, and tucked the boxes under their beds where nobody would see them. But out of sight is rarely out of mind. By the time the third scroll came, the following Friday, both boys were mad with anticipation. 

> The Third Task:  
>  Put the clothes on tonight.  
>  Leave the scarves in the box under your bed.  
>  Wear your badge. 

Graham was glad the badge stuck to the shirt by magic; he'd hate to have to put a pin through the lovely cloth. It felt ten times better than he had imagined, whispering against his skin. Looking over at Malcolm, he saw how the fabric clung to his friend's body, to the muscles which had started to develop, to the fine hair on his legs. He imagined it was doing the same on him. They were the two best-looking of his class, he had always felt. Now they looked like young princes, regal in Slytherin green. 

He wondered what was going to happen. He would not sleep a wink, he was sure, but the soft caress of his new nightclothes relaxed him, and soon he was dreaming. 

* * *

He dreamed of butterflies flickering across his face and arms, and he woke with them still there, fluttering across his eyelids which, he realized, were being held closed by a very soft, silken blindfold. His wrists were tied together in front of him by an equally soft restraint. "Graham?" he heard Malcolm say, and then a hissed, "Shhhh," and a giggle, and a whisper he couldn't make out. 

A tug at his wrists pulled him upright, and soon he was stumbling after his unseen captors. Out the door. Down the hallway to the Slytherin common room. Across another corridor. Down stairs. Up stairs. Around corners. 

He was hopelessly lost when he heard an unfamiliar woman's voice, sounding cross. "Yes, yes, I'm awake. Password?" 

"Silk shirts." Now that sounded like--Malfoy? 

"Well," said the first voice, now sounding much more like a purr, "why didn't you say so? Come on in, you sweet things." 

Over a threshold and into a room, then onto a straight-backed chair. He heard the quiet words of a binding spell, and more silk wrapped itself around his ankles, tying him to the chair. His hands were gently pulled up over his head, and suspended there. There was another giggle. And then--silence. And then-- 

A dozen voices, simultaneously: " _Anima silk!_ " Suddenly, Graham's clothing came--alive. There was no other way to describe it. The long ends of his blindfold whispered against his neck. The nightshirt rippled and caressed him. The boxer shorts -- he was trying not to think what they were doing to him, because those voices meant that he was surrounded by people who were probably watching him. The problem was that just thinking about people watching him as the silken underwear rubbed against his most intimate body parts made those body parts pay even more attention to the silk. 

More voices, more spells. He felt lips on his neck which didn't seem to be attached to the rest of a body, hands on his thighs which felt like they had twenty fingers each. A hot breath blew in his ear. He heard Malcolm moan somewhere behind him. He heard himself moan. Whispers and moans and fingers and silk, all around him, all swirling, bringing him closer and closer and closer to an explosion that he was trying very hard not to think about but it wasn't helping any because it happened anyway. 

" _Finite Incantantem!_ " 

Then there was silence again, and his clothes were just pieces of silken cloth. 

And then he heard the soft words of the unbinding spell, and his legs came free of the chair. The silk around his wrists unwound and dropped to his lap, and the blindfold unwrapped itself from his eyes. He blinked once, and opened them. 

He was in a room with a group of Slytherins, all fifth-formers and above, and he wasn't quite sure how many there were because he didn't count them, and he didn't count them because he was too busy realizing that they were all, except for him and Malcolm on a chair beside him, entirely naked. Pansy Parkinson was draped over Tom Nutt, Blaise Zabini was entwined with Ian Montague, and Draco Malfoy--Graham gulped at the sight of the Quidditch team captain sitting on the lap of the Potions master, who was, after all, head of Slytherin House. 

When they saw that he and Malcolm were looking at them, they all applauded. Every single one of them. The applause stopped as Draco Malfoy languidly got to his feet and walked toward the boys in the middle. 

"Welcome, gentlemen," he drawled, spreading his hands expansively and gesturing to the room of Slytherins, "to the Society for the Practice of Erotic Wizardry." 


End file.
